


Clash

by allsnarker



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsnarker/pseuds/allsnarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Ultra Jack drabbles that generally have nothing to do with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wheeljack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheeljack/gifts).



> A friend of mine and I were discussing a few scenes we wanted to role-play the other day, and then she mentioned a scenario.... and it kind of manifested in my head.
> 
> This is supposed to occur right after the two get in another argument (haha, big surprise) that accidentally ends in Ultra Magnus expressing the ability to care. It'll make more sense when we get there RP-wise, but for now, have this.
> 
> For Jackie, <3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Blue plating and strands of glowing azul lines crash against the wall, a grunt escaping him from the sudden impact. His optics wince closed, then come back online a moment later as servos tease along the seams on his chest. He is too confused, as yet, to resist the sudden sensations along his sensornet.

“What are you--” he starts, only to be silenced by a rough clash of denta against his lower lip component, the feeling of a glossa invading the space of his own. A low burn emanates from the smaller mech's frame, the heat infectious as it spreads slowly through him, as well. Wheeljack has pressed himself tenaciously between grey thighs, and now he grinds his silver codpiece against the Commander's own blue one.

Ultra Magnus can see mischief in the white mech's optics as they separate, though he doesn't realize the extent until he feels the head of a spike against his paneling. His frame responds before he does, and in one quick movement he's taken the appendage inside him, intakes stuttering and static erupting from his vocoder. He can hear Wheeljack groaning against his chassis and can feel the slow, rough slide of the spike against fluttering calipers, and he grips the mech before him for a sense of stability. One servo is at a wheeled shoulder, the other gripping tight around Wheeljack's aft.

They pause as the Wrecker Commander takes Wheeljack in to the hilt, vents blaring hot air. Darkened biolights pulse rapidly, and a servo traces over them in harsh tenderness. The white mech clutches a blue hip with his other servo, keeping them steady.

“Move,” the larger mech growls, arousal making his voice deepen and rumble.

A grin marks the white Wrecker's face, his own vocals low and compelling. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, there is the distinct sensation of emptiness, and then Ultra Magnus finds himself filled again. His backstrut arcs away from the wall, grip tightening on the other's frame. The low bass of his engines rises to a jerking snarl as Wheeljack finds his rhythm: hard, fast, tireless. Soon, he finds himself meeting each thrust with a downward angling of his hips, the wet slickness of his valve wanting it deeper, _now_.

The Commander climaxes with unexpected speed, systems roaring his pleasure and approval. Wheeljack follows soon after, the sudden tightness around him and the unintentional moans of his partner pushing him to fill Magnus with one last heavy thrust. They slide down the wall languorously, sparks trailing in their wake, fluids dripping from their joined frames. Equipment is removed and replaced, cooling fans and the ticking of taxed systems against frigid air the only sounds in the aftermath.

Wheeljack deliberately sprawls across the large blue and red chestplates, the action possessive of the one beneath him. He close to recharging, and is encouraged so by the strokes of silvered digits against his audio fins. His commander observes the smaller's exhausted antics, watches the way the white mech presses into his touch, and ruminates in silence until he powers down into oblivion himself.


	2. At Ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Caste system, the Wreckers celebrate a victory.

The star that Cybertron orbited had disappeared around the horizon, leaving in its wake the tempestuous rays of auburn curling along the darkness of space, the bright denizens of space flicking coldly in the darkness above. Below, the ragtag crew known as the Wreckers were returning from a successful raid into Breaker territory. High grade was distributed and consumed with hearty laughs and playful cuffs against armored plates.

The blue Wrecker stood apart, though not by much; he was just outside the ring of shenanigans, watching the others as they rejoiced over their victory, his spark content. His side held empty space, which he did not allow to bother him; he knew his second in command had joined the others, and he was satisfied to remain as he was.

Though, apparently not everyone else had the same idea.

He felt a sharp jab against his abdominal plates then, and shifted to follow the source, an optical ridge raising as he witnessed Wheeljack there, a glimmer in his optics and a cube of energon in each servo.

“Thought you could use the company, Chief,” the white mech said, grinning at the larger Wrecker.

A cube was offered and accepted, and Ultra Magnus spared a glance at the motley group before them before focusing on Wheeljack, gaze easy. “Not gonna join ‘em?”

“Nah, it’s not my scene.” A smirk at that, and Wheeljack took a few steps closer, field brushing against the blue mech’s companionably. His gaze was on the others, and he took a sparse sip from his drink.

Magnus chuckled. “Could o’ fooled me.” He returned the touch of fields easily, allowing them to intertwine, and followed Wheeljack’s gaze, frame relaxed and at ease.

A two-toned servo trailed along the base of his spinal strut, and he turned back, optics questioning. When Wheeljack didn’t say a word, instead merely glancing at him once and rubbing gently along the more taut of stress cables that resided there, Ultra Magnus gently raised a servo and reciprocated, optics dimming as he traced the thin lines of Wheeljack’s winglet.

Their engines rumbled in mutual comfort as they stood, apart and watchful, enjoying the heady sense of victory in a less conventional way than their kin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus lets Wheeljack take control. NSFW.

A servo pushed down on his chest, and though he could easily knock it aside, he stopped, waiting at the behest of his partner, cerulean optics bright and focused on the white-plated frame. The pressure eased from his chest, but the other’s optics held him in place. Instead, the servo trailed down his plating, scraping harshly over exposed energon lines one klik, then smoothing over as if in silent apology the next. Ultra Magnus could feel the heat coursing through his systems, and his vents released it in a heavy gust, one that had the white mech grinning lustily down at him.

“Gettin’ yah hot ‘n bothered, am I?” he purred, delving lower. His servos teasing brushed against the blue codpiece, and though the blue mech could tell Wheeljack was trying to rile him more, the smaller Wrecker was just as affected. Heat seemed to radiate off him in waves, and his engine revved with every shift of Ultra Magnus’ frame against his.

In response, the blue mech merely grunted, servos clenching as he worked to keep himself still. 

Wheeljack grinned; then his helm ducked below Magnus’ view, denta scraping against bright biolights. Ultra Magnus’ own helm thunked back against the berth, vents huffing, as he felt the slick heat of a glossa over the lines, then slide down further, into the crevasses of his codpiece. A sudden spike of heat shot through him, and he felt his servos lock around the edges of the berth.

A sultry laugh rose, the tactile sensations suddenly absent. “Gonna overload before we even get to the good part, huh?” That deserved another glare, and Wheeljack laughed again, pulling himself up so that he straddled the larger’s hips, harshly grinding their closed panels together in a way that should have brought pain — but with the state they had both achieved, it quickly shifted to pleasure, Wheeljack’s back arched back, winglets raised, optics open by sheer force of will to witness every reaction given by the one beneath him, who growled, optics shuttering and hips pushing upwards, despite his earlier resolve otherwise.

Neither wanted to be the first to give in, but someone had to, someone had to bend…

"Com’on, Mags, open up for me," Wheeljack groaned, grinding down harder, panels still closed, but only just. He would only give when Magnus did, and just because he’d vocalized it didn’t mean he’d given in, by any means.

Ultra Magnus snarled but relinquished, panel folding back to reveal his spike, and Wheeljack paused to take it in, gaze almost hungry as he raked his optics over the glowing accents and dangerous barbs that protected them. A servo left the silver of Magnus’ waist to fondle it, then stroke along its length, and he watched the barbs shift in reaction to his touch, pushing up against his digits as if by longing instinct.

Wheeljack raised himself again, rasping his closed array against the exposed spike, forcing a groan from his partner, and as he rose again, he could not longer fight it, the need to be filled, and yet still in control, and Magnus was allowing it, making the sense of victory sweet even as his panel retracted and he sank down, slowly, savoring every inch. Grey collided with blue at last, and they both panted with the effort of restraining themselves.

Optics met then, both intense, one fighting instinct and almost pained with the effort, the other just beginning and so ready to make the larger beg… He just had to hold himself back enough to last that long.

Wheeljack pushed himself back up, using Magnus’ own frame as a counterbalance, and sank down just as slowly as before, pace torturous. He burned to up the pace, but he kept it slow, steady, to light a greater fire in the blue mech.

And despite Ultra Magnus’ renowned control, despite the force of his will, he was slipping, sliding over it all, field molten against Wheeljack’s, and his servos unhinged from the berth, instead grasping Wheeljack’s hips, as if magnetized, though he didn’t try to move the white mech.

"Whe— Wheeljack…"

The white mech paused, gathering enough self control to keep his voice even, ignoring the hitch in his vents as the barbs within his valve pulsed, as if trying to draw him back down atop them. “Yeah?”

"M-move. Please…"

Wheeljack forced himself to sit up straighter, as if considering, a feral grin on his faceplates. “I’ll think about it.”

And then he slammed himself down, valve swallowing the spike whole, the friction delicious enough to wring a faint cry from the both of them. And the feeling was so great, so exquisite, that he couldn’t resist doing it again, and again, faster and faster, until they were both pushed to their limits, neither conscious of who was doing what, only that they were _doing_ and _moving_ and they were doing it together, that they were two nearly indiscernible parts of a whole…

Wheeljack could tell who hit first, whether it was the calipers of his valve spiraling down or the outward thrust Magnus’ barbs that drove them over the edge, but one klik he was needing it, feeling the rise, the sensation elusive and just out of his grasp, and the next his entire frame was alight, static and sparks coursing through him and Magnus alike until they collapsed, exhausted, vents heaving in the aftermath.

Optics met again, and they both smiled, one a smirk and the other a gentle admission of contentment.

"So…" Wheeljack said at last, capturing Ultra Magnus’ attention in full. "Ready for round two?"

There was a loud groan and a smack to grey plating, followed by a startled yelp at that.

"Hey!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 2 and 3 were in dedication to Jackie's birthday. Happy Birthday, Jackie~!!


	4. 00:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. Before civilization even existed for Cybertronians, two mechs run into one another during a tumble with some would-be thieves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based of a meme from tumblr, but I thought it might be a good idea to put it over here as well. It's Ultra Magnus/Wheeljack. Why not? :D
> 
> Meme: In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they'll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.

The numbers meant nothing to them.

They were simply there, an object that only held fascination for so long. Sometimes, individually, they might have wondered what they meant. Perhaps they predicted death — or something more, though neither could imagine anything else.

Their race was still far too young to understand what the little display of numbers, ever counting down to some point in the distant future, could possibly mean.

Ultra Magnus ignored his for the most part — if you didn’t know what it meant, why bother with it? It didn’t help him find energon, and it didn’t tell him when others might attempt an ambush on him. Some tried. They all failed.

———————————————————————————

It was on one such attempt that he encountered a small white mech. He wasn’t sure how the other had gotten there; one klik a small band of bots crawled out from shadowed metal crevasses, the next the weight of another’s field was against his back, the sound of dual fists landing heavy blows clanging mightily around them.

The would-be thieves realized their mistake then. These two bots, whoever they were, were a force to be reckoned with, and a call for retreat was called soon after.

Magnus’ vents heaved in the aftermath, optics watching almost incomprehensibly as the backs of those he’d just been deep in combat with fled back from whence they had come, his field still heavy with wariness that this was some sort of ruse. It was only when the mech at his side spoke that he shifted his focus, optics resetting briefly.

"Musta figured they picked the wrong bots for a scrap, huh?"

The other mech was small in stature, his colors and frame sharp and angular compared to the lines the blue mech could make out of himself; he’d never spent much thought of his own appearance before, nor was he given to. For one so small, the white mech made it up in speed —something that the larger mech had made note of sometime within their fight, and which had impressed him even as he’d continued his own resistance.

The white mech was grinning up at him now, apparently unfazed by the fact that only moments before they had been under attack. Magnus couldn’t help the instinct to return the gesture.

"Yeah."

"Name’s Wheeljack. Was jus’ wanderin’ through here when they showed up."

"Ultra Magnus. Same fer me. Prob’ly thought they’d get two scraplets, one lob."

They exchanged a grin at that.

It wasn’t until later, after they’d talked and laughed and enjoyed the presence of another bot, that Magnus noticed the numbers on his wrist, usually endlessly scrolling onward, paused at an end set.

00:00:00

He blinked at them, helm quirking to the side. “My numbers stopped.”

Wheeljack inched over in an attempt to see, optical ridges high in curiosity. “Really?” Then he glanced down at his own wrist and saw the same thing. “Mine, too.” The surprise in his vocals was clear, and they exchanged a puzzled glance.

"Wonder what that’s about."

"Dunno. Guess we’ll find out."


	5. Reports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. Fluffs.

A sudden weight pressed against his side, but his gaze didn’t shift from the console before him, his stance instead adjusting to accommodate the other mech’s appearance. Wheeljack had his back pressed to the blue mech, winglets angled just so, in case Ultra Magnus hadn’t noticed him to begin with.

Ultra Magnus knew without looking this his gaze would be met with a smirk, and instead continued his attention to the screen before him, though his words were for the smaller. “How did your patrol go?”

He could hear the shrug in Wheeljack’s vocals. “Eh, same old, same old. Got some nice dust out there.” The shrug turned to a grin. “Got some yah could take a look at.”

A press against his field came unbidden, and he chose to ignore it instead. “Hmm.”

When the small attempt at persuasion failed, Wheeljack sighed, pushing all his weight back against Magnus again. “What have yah been up to while I was gone? Yah know, besides the usual.”

Ultra Magnus raised an optical ridge at the comment, then proceeded regardless. “From the time you left to the time of your return, I have completed forty-two reports. The others have taken respite elsewhere; most seem to have taken a drive as a means to relax.”

"How many yah got left?"

"Twelve."

He could almost hear the gears churning in Wheeljack’s helm, and he risked a quick glance at the white mech, only to be greeted by that tell-tale, mischievous smile. “When yer done, we could do somethin’ else for a respite of our own~.” His field brushed against the larger mech’s, tantalizing in nature.

Wheeljack waited, grin never wavering as he watched Magnus’ face. Though there was nothing obvious, he saw…. something… shift, just a tiny amount, in the azure optics, and ever-so-slowly was there a return in the brush of fields, though not so nearly as lewd. Then, the gaze was gone, and a datapad was stuffed in his faceplate, distracting him briefly.

"It would go faster if you helped," was the singular comment, and Wheeljack smiled again, this time softer, as he leaned against the blue mech. He took the offered datapad in servo and began to work at that, the grin widening as he felt that gaze on him again, but he did not look up from his new task.

Their fields mingled pleasantly as they worked, the companionship of the other providing solace in what was otherwise an exercise in monotony.


	6. Recharge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SFW. Jackie and I were discussing what would happen if Mangus was the one to recharge first (because Wheeljack always, ALWAYS goes out first in our things so far, XD), and then i got inspired and wrote this. :D

The hunt had begun.

First, it was just an absentminded thing — _Where’s Magnus? Haven’t seen him all day. Maybe he’s workin’ away again._

Then, followed by a mischievous grin — _I need ta bug ‘im._

But no matter where Wheeljack looked, he couldn’t find the blue lug. He wasn’t in his office, he wasn’t wandering the halls, he wasn’t even with the other Autobots, and the groundbridge records didn’t mention a big blue bot going out to take a stroll. Neither did Soundwave, but he wasn’t the most vocal of mechs.

That left only one stone unturned, and the white Wrecker wasn’t about to leave a base uncovered and forfeit, even if it was just a personal game. _How many kliks to find ‘im? How many more to get him torqued?_

Wheeljack took a turn towards the Autobot’s personal chambers then, only pausing to enter a quick code next to one of the doors before waltzing right in, his vocals preceding him. “Hey, Mags, I’ve been lookin’ all over—”

Optics widened, and he stopped mid-sentence, frame following suit as his processors caught up with what he was witnessing. Magnus was here, alright, but instead of his usual busy self, either making sure everything was where it should be or working on more of those slagged datapads, the blue mech was residing upon his berth, optics shuttered and vents cycling air in a way that suggested the mech was in recharge. 

For once, Magnus had taken Wheeljack’s advice and gotten some shuteye. 

This time, Wheeljack’s grin was of a different sort — the edges were softer, and the mischief was gone. Instead, he mixed his field soothingly with that of the recharging mech’s, stalking close enough only to gently press himself into his usual spot: atop Magnus’ chest. The blue mech stirred minutely, and he winced as the thinned blue of optics onlining met his gaze.

"Hey," he whispered, field swelling to meet the sluggish advances of the bigger mech. "Didn’t mean ta wake yah." His engines settled down in a low rumble, coaxing Magnus back to sleep.

Heavy arms wrapped around his smaller frame moments later, and he felt himself hoisted up, just a little, until the silver faceplate was even with his. Lip components met once or twice, the white mech leaning into them contentedly, before tired optics shuttered once more. Wheeljack’s engines purred as he watched, the warmth of the other’s frame dragging him down to recharge as well. He was efficiently trapped here, but he didn’t mind.

He was happy to doze right where he was.


End file.
